


Tolerance

by orphan_account



Series: Feel [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, what am i doing this isn't good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t think. But he remembers. He’d told him months ago, it was okay to see other people. It was okay to pretend like he didn’t exist. It was okay. This was okay. He wasn’t obligated, wasn’t entitled for him to keep. He was okay with that. </p>
<p>And maybe he was getting bored, was getting tired, sick of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tolerance

**Author's Note:**

> Another piece of work. I have a problem with efficiency.

It was around late-September that they started dating. Exclusively.

And, for once in his life, everything was fine. He had a loving boyfriend, he was top of the class, the snide comments weren’t as severe as a year ago, and his step-father was in speaking terms with him for the first time in a long time. 

Everything was fine.

And _he_ was perfect. _He_ held his hand. _He_ hugged him from behind. _He_ kissed him good night, every night. _He_ played with his hair. _He_ read him books until they fell asleep, on the balcony, in a chilly night. _He_ went to his weird concerts. _He_ made videos with him, which made no sense but meant everything, altogether.

But he had his doubts. 

Was he enough? Was _he_ getting bored? Or tired? Or sick of him? 

It bothered him, these thoughts. Four months of fake sleeping, of fake smiling, of “No, I’m fine, really.” Which had _fakefakefake_ coated around them. He was disappointed that _he_ never saw past them.

Come January and he confronts these irritations.

“Hey,” he says, in the middle of Movie Night, cuddled into a sea of duvets and blankets. _He_ looks down, lips smiling but eyes worried. “Yeah?” and he feels like his heart is in his throat. Like his lips are being sewn shut. Like his tongue being cut over.

“So, like, it’s been four months,” and his lips involuntarily tug into a smile. Because never had anyone been able to tolerate him for this long. Been able to put up with his quirks or his bad habits or his snoring. 

“Yeah,” _he_ smiles as well, even with _his_ eyes. 

“And you haven’t broken up with me yet.” The words come out fast and slurred and _whattheactualfuckdidijustsay_. Because that was not what he meant to say, no, not at all. Or maybe along the lines of that. 

It catches _him_ off-guard. But before _he_ can say anything, he continues.

“And, no one has been able to stay with me for this long. And—And I guess I’m scared that you’ll get bored of me soon enough, and, you know. Yeah.” He swallows, thinking over one last time what he’s been pondering about the past months. 

“And, like, if you want to—you can go out and date other people or something. Or like, not even date, just—you know, uhm.” He coughs into his hand. “Do the do, or something. I won’t mind.” He breathes. _One. Two_. “And it’s not like you need my permission or something, anyway. I just wanted to put it out there that you’re not, like, obligated to me, or something.” The movie rolls into the credits. “So, yeah.” _His_ grip around him has loosened some throughout his little speech. 

“Is that what you want?” _he_ begins, “For us to see other people?” _his_ fingers card through his hair. A soothing gesture, he assumed. But to him, it was just too much, too intimate, too much.

“If it makes you happy,” throat tight, like _his_ scent strangling him. “And, uhm, you don’t even have to introduce me as your uh—” swallows hard, “Boyfriend. Maybe just a really convenient best friend or something.” his voice turns small, barely audible. “I don’t mind.”

_He_ shakes _his_ head, laces their fingers across his chest. “I don’t want that,” _he_ smiles, soft and kind and suffocating, “I just want you.” and the day ends like that—in a sea of duvets and blankets and fluff.

-

It was okay for a while.

_He_ kept to his word. _He_ still liked him; a lot. _He_ still listened to his music. _He_ still read him to sleep. But that was just for a moment. 

It wasn’t until a couple of months later.

They’d moved in, had bought a car. 

Their eight-month anniversary and he still can’t believe it. They were still together. He had made dinner for the occasion, had texted _him_ to come home from work early, just today. No instant reply was received, but he had assumed _he_ was already driving home. 

Half an hour prior to sending the text, traffic, he thinks. Waits, patiently. Another half hour passes by, and maybe the text wasn’t sent. He sends it again, just in case. Another half hour and he gets worried. The company was only a quarter-hour drive from the flat. 

It was when he was shrugging on his jacket that his phone lights up. 

He doesn’t get too excited, maybe it wasn’t even _him_. To his accord, it wasn’t. It was one of their mutual friends, had sent him a picture message. He’s confused. The image takes a while to buffer, and when he does, it’s blurry and grainy and he has to squint.

It’s blurry and grainy but it hurts. 

His phone falls to a thud on the wooden panel floors. 

The photo finally buffs up to an okay quality. It’s _him_. Not just _him_ , but with another man. Pressed up and lips locked and where was he supposed to go. 

He doesn’t think. But he remembers. He’d told _him_ months ago, it was okay to see other people. It was okay to pretend like he didn’t exist. It was okay. This was okay. _He_ wasn’t obligated, wasn’t entitled for him to keep. He was okay with that. 

And maybe _he_ was getting bored, was getting tired, sick of him.

And it was okay.


End file.
